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“I don’t understand how people can be so bad at love. How could he hurt his own kids because of his own selfish ignorance? How can you claim to love someone and hurt them so badly?”
“That’s not love.”
I turn my head to look into his eyes. This same brooding man who scowled at me when I read his palm suddenly knows about love. Because of course he does. I’ve seen the way he works to get Beau back in his life, the way he beats himself up for what he’s doing with me.
“I see the way you are with her, how amazing you are with your family, Charlotte.”
I quickly shake my head. “No, I’m only doing what I should—”
Cutting me off, he takes me by the face and pulls me close. “Stop it. Stop selling yourself short. I bet your mother and sister don’t think that. I’m sure they think you’re just as amazing as I do.”
Heat floods my body, turning everything in me to mush. Emerson Grant thinks I’m amazing.
“I’m a mess,” I argue. “Look at where I live. I’m clumsy and forgetful and messy…”
His lips press against mine as he mumbles, “You’re perfect.” Then he pulls away and stares at me sternly, his voice taking on a darker, edgier tone. “Now, stop arguing with me.”
Instantly, my face relaxes, and the stress slides off my shoulders. I set the picture frame on the shelf as I step into his arms. “Yes, Sir,” I reply.
“I’m going to make you forget every bad thing you’ve ever said about yourself. And if I catch you saying anything self-deprecating, you’ll be punished. Understand?”
There’s a tremor under my skin, from fear or from excitement, or maybe I’m just caught up in this moment and everything he’s saying to me. I quickly reply with a head nod.
His hands cup my face as he arches a brow and tilts his head down toward me. “Your words, Charlotte.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against mine. Then he smiles, and it feels as if the scene has come to an end, and we’re just us again.
As he brushes my hair back, I stare up at him, trying to navigate this place we’re in. What are we? Does he feel what I’m feeling because, right now, my heart feels so incredibly full that it’s terrifying. Someday, Emerson will leave me, either because the novelty has worn off or because his son has made his way back into his life and there’s no room for me there. I know it’s going to hurt like hell when that day finally arrives, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for it.
Almost as if he can sense the erratic fear-laced thoughts running through my head, Emerson kisses me hard. Suddenly, I’m lifted off my feet and carried to my un-made queen-size bed. With my legs wrapped around his waist, he crawls down the center, placing me on the pillows.
“We really don’t have to stay here,” I stammer. “We can go back to your house—”
His lips trail down to my neck as he grinds himself between my legs, knocking all of the rational words and thoughts straight out of my head. I let out a breathy moan.
“You like that?” he mutters against my skin.
“Uh-huh.”
“Want me to do it again?”
“Yes, please.” I sigh.
Laying his body over mine, he grinds his hard length against me again, sending a shot of arousal through my body. Something about that action, the way his body moves, the promise of sex, has me in knots, and I moan again.
My legs are locked around his waist as he kisses my collarbone, trailing downward to my chest. Lifting my shirt at the hem, he swipes it over my head.
“Tell me what else you want, Charlotte.”
I freeze. Dirty talk? I can’t. Just the idea of saying the words out loud has me tensing.
His movements stop, and he sits up, leaving my skin craving his.
“I’m waiting…” he teases. From this angle, his large body hovering over me, hard and intimidating, makes me think I’m dreaming. Iwanthim. I want him to take control, to bring me pleasure, but also to use my body to seek his own. And yeah, there are a million things I could think of that he could do at this very moment that I would love, so why can’t I express them?
What am I afraid of?
